The first time I patronized the notorious Mount Royal Tavern was as a newly minted freshman at art school. They had to have better coffee than the machines on campus, I reasoned... I asked the barkeep for coffee with a scant spoon of sugar and a splash of milk. Thyme ( as I eventually learned his name) picked up the sugar dispenser and kept pouring until the cup was a third filled. Then he pulled out some non dairy creamer and poured that in the cup until it was half full. Then he filled the rest of the cup with coffee, fitted it with a lid and presented it to me, cheerfully declaring I owed fifty cents. I took the cup and placed it in an ashtray, then ordered a cup of black coffee. I gave him a dollar and trotted out without tipping, one of the only times I've ever not left a gratuity. I've had my coffee black ever since.
Waiting for the pear blossoms, which will smell dreadful, enjoying the forest gasses. There are tulips in every garden. The pink trees are in full display. I hear an occasional woodpecker, song birds and mourning doves, cathedral bells and sirens.